


Body of Years

by sofamireyo, yalla



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Coffeeshop AU, Everyone's gay, F/F, M/M, No One is White, So much angst, Trans Character, Trans Dave, Trans Female Character, Trans Karkat, Trans Male Character, angst will come, black Dave, cuban Karkat, davekat - Freeform, filipino John, ftm!dave, ftm!karkat, just wait, oh man, roommate au, trans!Dave, trans!karkat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:18:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofamireyo/pseuds/sofamireyo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalla/pseuds/yalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider is shit out of luck and unable to afford his apartment. Karkat Vantas just needs a place to stay. Though the two are complete strangers, they will find that they have more in common than they ever thought possible.</p><p> </p><p>EVERYONE IS QUEER AS FUCK AND NO ONE IS WHITE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Dave Realizes He's Broke As Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> We've never written fan fiction before.

On the Wednesday two weeks before his rent was due, Dave Strider sat at the kitchen table, massaging his temples as he looked down at the yellowing pages of the notebook before him. Its pages were curling under the force of his fading pen. Frowning, he scribbled over yet another series of math equations and started again, frowning and muttering to himself.

It was no use. Even with two jobs, even skimping on his food budget and moving around money as best he could, he would not be able to make rent on the apartment. He had spent at least an hour fudging numbers, and he was still where he had started: broke, running on only several hours of sleep, and beginning to feel very ticked off at his now ex-roommate, Jake English, adventurer extraordinaire and current public enemy #1.

He dropped the blue ballpoint pen and passed a hand over his eyes, which were dry and a little bloodshot from lack of sleep, before sliding on his sunglasses. He felt a surge of annoyance as he closed his notebook and noticed a mark on the table where Jake had accidentally burned it during some birthday extravaganza last year. Seriously, fuck him. What kind of asshole would just up and leave their roommate of two years without any notice, to go backpacking in Canada? The Jake English kind, apparently. He’d given Dave a day’s notice before he was gone, babbling about adventure and how excited he was. Dave had barely even realized he was leaving before he was alone, suddenly realizing just how little money he was really making. It didn’t pay much to play piano for elementary school kids three times a week, and his DJing gigs weren’t as frequent as he would like. He’d been leaning a little more heavily on Jake than he would have liked to admit.

Dave reached across the table, picking up the pile of bills and flipping through them as he had many times before, as though hoping the sums of money had been magically reduced in the past half hour. No such luck. Sighing, he slapped them back on the table and let out a defeated groan.

He had several options. One, find a new roommate. Dave didn’t really like meeting new people, though, and had already gone through all of his friends in his mind. Anyone he could stand was cemented into their living arrangements, be it through college or a significant other, and those whom he would inevitably end up murdering in their sleep were not even considered.

Two, find a cheaper place to live. That was unlikely. Dave loved the set up of his apartment. He had his mixing equipment, instruments, and sound gear all set up in one room; his room was spacious and let him breathe easy; and there was a nice view from the kitchen into the neighborhood, all shingled roofs and golden labradors.

Option three was to work on his latest remix and deal with his apartment situation later. Predictably, it was the one he ended up opting for.


	2. In Which Conversations Are Had and Living Arrangements Are Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look. new characters. coffee. dialogue.

“So you need a place to stay?”

Karkat Vantas looked up too sharply, almost hitting his head on the coffee machine before him. He looked at his dark-haired coworker with a slight frown.

“What the fuck are you prying into my personal life for, Egbert?”

“I heard you talking to Kanaya,” John said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the tall, slim Indian girl who was leaning against the register to take the order of a cute blonde girl with black lipstick. At the mention of her name, Kanaya glanced over at Karkat and John, but John waved his hand airly to show he wasn’t addressing her.

“That’s really creepy,” Karkat said shortly, turning back to the coffee he was mixing. “I’d appreciate you to not eavesdrop on my conversations in the future, you hyperactive asshat. It’s not fucking cute, and I don’t appreciate it. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

John laughed, reaching up to adjust his dorky square glasses. “I’m not snooping,” he protested. “It’s just, my friend’s in a bit of a situation right now and he needs a roommate, so I figured maybe you two want to talk or something.” He shot Karkat a winning smile, buck teeth and all. The short Cuban boy looked unimpressed.

“What do you think I am, a fucking infant? I’m not going to live with someone I’ve never met,” he snapped, drizzling caramel over the drink before popping on the lid. He set it in the order pick up and turned to John, wiping his hands on the mandatory purple apron. “Besides, I don’t trust your judgment at all. This guy is probably a massive prick, or a pervert, or both.”

“Aw, come on,” John wheedled. “Don’t be such a sourpuss! Anyway, he’s picking me up from my shift, so you can meet him today! And then you won’t be strangers anymore.”

“I get off before you on Wednesdays,” Karkat reminded him dryly, busying himself with re-stacking plastic cups. John let out an over dramatic sigh, flinging himself across the counter. Karkat made sure to elbow him as he shifted the cups.

“Karkat,” John said, his voice getting dangerously close to whining. Karkat fixed him with an icy glare.

“Do not start using that tone with m--”

“At least agree that you’ll meet him,” John insisted. “You’d be doing me a really big favor. I’d be indebted to you forever. I’ll buy you every movie you ever want. I’ll kiss the ground you walk on. I’ll--”

“Fucking Christ, I’ll do it if it’ll get you to shut up,” Karkat said, rolling his eyes. John punched the air and did a little dance of victory that immediately made Karkat wish they didn’t know each other and bury his face in his hands. 

“God, you’re the nerdiest fucking carbon-based lifeform I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter,” Karkat muttered.

John stopped his exuberant dancing for a moment to grin at Karkat. “I don’t know why you’re upset; you have a new roommate! Well, maybe. I doubt he’ll have much of an issue with it. He has his coolkid facade to maintain!”

“How reassuring. I’ll be stuck with a pretentious douchebag.”

“He’s not pretentious!” John said, determined to defend his long-time friend. “He’s just--he’s--he’s cool, you know?” 

“If you two are not too busy, we need a mocha frappuccino and two vanilla lattes,” Kanaya called out crisply, tossing the labelled cups over.

Karkat ignored her, continuing their conversation. “Fortunately, no. I don’t. Look, as long as the asshole doesn’t get into my shit and leaves me the fuck alone, maybe I can deal with it.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along great!” John said, beaming as he pumped scalding milk into one of the too-thin insulated cups. He mixed in the vanilla powder and stuck on the plastic lid. “Um, two vanilla lattes and a mocha frap for Rose?”

The pretty blonde that Kanaya had been chatting with came up to the counter for her drinks. She was Korean, wearing immaculately applied black eyeliner and lipstick. “That would be me. Do you happen to have a cardboard drink holder?”

“Yep, I gotcha,” John said, handing her the cardboard liquid confection contraption. “Have a nice day!”

“Or have a shitty one,” Karkat added. John kicked at him behind the counter, the grin still plastered on his face as he waved.

Rose smirked a bit. “I pledge to have a perfectly monotonous and typical day.” Delicately taking her drinks and tossing Kanaya a smile, she made her way to the door as a young black man entered, holding the door open for her as she walked by. They nodded at each other in acknowledgement before he ambled up to the counter. 

“Dave!!” 

Karkat winced as John’s voice ascended into pitches typically reserved for infantile mosquito ring tones and dog whistles. 

“John. Remember the fucking thing called an inside voice? The thing we use in order to not break the eardrums of innocents? Or glass?”

“I’m inside. I’m using my voice,” John snarked, flouncing away from Karkat to greet Dave at the counter.

“You dumbass,” Dave snorted, then turned to Kanaya. “Get me the cheapest cup of shit you have. Put enough caffeine in it to simultaneously kill a horse and sink the Titanic.” She smiled at him in greeting and took the money he offered her. 

John grinned, ignoring the insult; it was just his friend’s way of saying hello. “You got it, Sir Strider. One cup of shitty coffee, coming right up.” 

Dave sighed, leaning heavily on the counter and rubbing at his eyes underneath his shades. 

As John busied himself preparing the coffee, he continued to speak. “So how are you holding up? You still want someone to help you with the rent, right?”

“I’m the strongest tree in the goddamn typhoon, bro. All this wind and rain can’t touch this impenetrable bark-- oh shit man this metaphor sucks balls,” he groaned. “Big, hairy, saggy gross as fuck tired balls. Balls that have seen way too much--”

“Dave, you’re rambling,” the cheery voice interrupted.

“Shit. Well, point is that yeah, I still could use a dude, since Jake decided to jump ship,” he mumbled. 

“Well, I happen to know a dude!” John chirruped happily. 

“Oh, fuck,” Karkat muttered into the table. 

“The bright ray of sunshine over there is Karkat,” John continued, dismissive of the crude  
remark. The previously mentioned ray of sunshine glowered at John over his cup. 

“Was that a sarcastic introduction? Because I am a fucking joy to be around.”

Dave raised a hand in a casual wave. “I’m Dave, in case you didn’t hear this one scream my name in pure, unadulterated ecstasy earlier.”

“My ears are still fucking hemorrhaging.” 

“So, you down to room with me? We’d be splitting the bills, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“What the fuck dude, I just met you and you’re already dreaming up plans of us sharing a living space? I don’t know anything about you, for fuck’s sake!”

“Sup, I’m Dave. I’m the creator of many shittily drawn comics and I mix music, which the masses praise and adore me for. Apart from DJing at whatever the fuck party or club I can find, I play piano for little kiddies at elementary schools for money, so that lets you know that I’m probably not too much of a threat to the community, because, oh look, he’s good with kids!” 

John slid a cup of coffee across the counter at his verbose friend. “You really are, though! I know you love them.”

“See? A testimonial.” Dave took a sip of coffee, wincing slightly, though whether his reaction was prompted by the temperature or flavor was unclear.

“Really though, Karkat, he’s a good guy!” John nodded enthusiastically.

Karkat scoffed. “Listen, John, you’re my friend and all, but you’d believe the best of a shitstain robbing you at gunpoint.”

“Come oooon, you said you’d do it!”

“I said I’d consider it! Two very different things entirely!” As he spoke, Karkat crossed his arms over his chest, his frown deepening as he looked between John and Dave. He’d been couch-surfing ever since his parents had kicked him out several weeks ago, and though he hated to admit it, he knew he couldn’t keep it up for too much longer. 

“It’s fine, man,” Dave began, shaking his head slightly. “I mean, if you’re not--”

“I guess we could give it a shot,” Karkat said brusquely. “This isn’t permanent, though. Just a night or two and then- we’ll see.”

As Karkat was speaking, Dave had already begun to scribble the address on a spare receipt from his pocket. He slid it across the counter to the shorter boy, who peered at it for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket.

“Yeah, dude,” Dave said. “It’s just a test drive. But let me warn you, this is probably the coolest fuckin’ car you’ve ever set foot in. Good paint job, sweet as hell mileage, zero-to-ninety in a second kind of ride.”


	3. In Which Karkat Moves In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god. look at these nerds

The following day, Karkat stomped out of his friend Gamzee’s front door, his lone duffel bag swinging against the backs of his knees as he lugged it behind himself. Kicking open the trunk of Gamzee’s shitty car, he tossed in the duffel bag before slamming it shut and making his way to the passenger seat.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, snapping on his seatbelt. “Will this car ever stop reeking of pot even if it one day leaves your possession?”

“Sorry, bro,” Gamzee said amiably, turning the key in the ignition. Juggalo Island blasted from the tinny speakers and Karkat clamped his hands over his ears in protest as Gamzee reached to turn down the volume.

“It’s fine,” Karkat muttered as Gamzee pulled away from the curb and began driving down the street. “Thanks for letting me stay with you.”

“No problem, man,” Gamzee replied. The car shuddered ominously as they cleared a speed bump. “I’m always here for a brother in need. Remember, if this guy gives you any shit, you can up and come right the fuck back.”

Karkat grimaced slightly at the prospect of returning to Gamzee’s sunken couch. “Thanks,” he said. “Turn right here. No--right--”

The car swerved sharply and Gamzee ran a stop sign. Across the intersection, a middle aged man honked and flipped them off. Gamzee simply smiled and honked back in apology.

“What street’s this guy livin’ on, anyway?” Gamzee asked, speeding up to make a yellow light. Karkat gripped the edge of his seat.

“Knight street,” Karkat said edgily. “Try not to fucking kill us before we get there.” 

Gamzee laughed good-naturedly before swerving across several lanes of traffic to turn left. “Ain’t got no motherfuckin’ plans to die today.”

By the time they reached Knight Street, Karkat’s nerves had only grown worse. He kept glancing at the slip of paper in his palm, sure that Dave had written down the wrong apartment number, or that he’d accidentally smudged the address. What if he got there and Dave had forgotten that he was coming? He’d have to sit outside for hours, until he was sunburned and miserable, skin peeling and brow sweaty. What if Dave had changed his mind, and was waiting to kick Karkat to the curb the moment he walked in, dooming him to a life of night after night spent on friends’ couches?

Worst of all, Karkat couldn’t stop tugging down at the edge of his binder as his mind raced. What if Dave found out? How the hell was he going to keep this a secret from Dave? They’d be living together, for God’s sake. Probably sharing a bathroom. What if Dave was one of those chronically half-naked people? How would Karkat explain his seemingly baseless modesty? And what if Dave stumbled upon Karkat’s tampons, or his binder, or any number of incriminating evidence? What if Dave was just like his parents, and decided that Karkat wasn’t fit to live under his roof? What then?

Gamzee’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Is this it?” 

Karkat looked down at the address in his hand and nodded, swallowing past the knot in his throat.

Gamzee helped him get his duffel bag out of the car and gave him one more tight hug.

“Later, bro,” he said. “Gimme a call if you hit any motherfuckin’ trouble.”

“Thanks, Gamz,” Karkat said. He watched his friend drive off before turning once more towards the apartment, his mouth suddenly dry. The complex was surrounded by a tall iron gate and every unit featured brickwork that Karkat would have appreciated more if he wasn’t so nervous. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed Dave’s number, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as the phone rang.

Jesus, he thought to himself. I’m worse than a fucking teenager on a date.

“Sup,” came Dave’s voice from the phone.

“I’m outside,” Karkat said, his voice coming out too high. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Come let me in, already. I don’t want to fucking stand out here for hours waiting for your lethargic ass to makes its merry way down here.”

“I’m comin’,” Dave said, and the line went dead.

Karkat shuffled closer to the gate, kicking his duffel bag along to help ease his nerves, and looked up to see Dave sauntering towards him, hands in his pockets only serving to exaggerate his long, relaxed strides. Karkat resented him a little for lack of nervousness in his movements.

“Where’s all your stuff?” Dave asked, swinging open the gate door. Karkat huffed and picked up his duffel bag, marching inside the gate and trying to not show the strain that the bag was putting on his shoulders.

“This is it,” Karkat informed him brusquely. Dave’s eyebrows shot up and Karkat grimaced slightly. “I don’t need much.”

“That’s for sure,” Dave said, taking in the size of the bag. “Well, come on, let’s get you settled in.”

Dave’s apartment was on the third floor in the building closest to the complex swimming pool. He gave Karkat a quick tour. The living room was clean, though something about the room seemed vaguely haphazard and Karkat was sure that he could see piles of crap shoved under the couch instead of thrown away or organized. Dave’s equipment room was not nearly as tidy as the living room; instead, it appeared to be a rat’s nest of complicated wires and systems that Dave insisted were conducive to the creative process. Karkat snorted in response, and Dave went on to show him the bathroom, where Dave had about three times as many hair products as Karkat had anticipated. The tour went along without incident until Dave reached the bedroom.

“This is the bedroom,” Dave said. “Jake and I used to just share the bed, so I figured--”

“You want to share a bed?” Karkat demanded. His entire body felt cold. Sharing a bed? How was he supposed to hide his secret when the two of them would be in close quarters every night? In response to Karkat’s outburst, Dave frowned, his lips pressing together in a tight line.

“Well, be my fuckin’ guest to sleep on that couch in the living room,” he said, a little stiffly. “I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal, but if you’ve got some issue with--”

“I don’t have an issue,” Karkat said, backpedaling wildly. “I’m--I’m great. Absolutely no issues with that. Totally fine. No reason why it wouldn’t be.”

Dave shot him an odd look. Karkat didn’t notice, as he busied himself with tossing his duffel bag on the bed and unzipping it. “Where can I put my clothes?”

“Uh, left side of the closet is mine, but you can have the other half. I think there’s hangers in there.”

After a moment of Karkat pulling his belongings out of the duffel bag and sliding them onto hangers, Dave cleared his throat. Karkat glanced up to look at him, where he stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“So, some ground rules,” Dave began. “Uh, don’t fuck with my sound equipment, don’t touch the cables, just--probably don’t go in that room unsupervised. It’s all really fuckin’ expensive and there’s no way in hell I can afford to replace it. Two, no ungodly noises in the morning. I don’t like to wake up before noon. Make that three if I’m hungover.” As he spoke, he raised a finger for each point. “Third, always knock. If a door is closed, knock. If it’s open, close it and knock. Just--fuckin’ knock.”

Karkat snorted as he stood to hang up several shirts in the right side of the closet. “That goes both ways, right?”

“Of course,” Dave said. He lifted a fourth finger. “This is kind of like number three, but seriously. Bathroom privacy. Respect that shit. I don’t need anyone stormin’ in when I’m in the middle of considering the meaning of life and maybe takin’ a piss and I’m guessing you don’t either. Unless you’re into that shit?”

“I’m definitely not,” Karkat interjected, but Dave was already steamrolling on.

“And lastly, I’m allergic to peanuts. Don’t laugh. And don’t bring peanut products into this sweet crib unless you want a dead rotting roommate. I will haunt your ass. Don’t test me.” As he spoke, Dave was wandering aimlessly around the bedroom, fiddling with the clock on the nightstand before looking back up. “Uh, I think that’s it. You got anything you wanna add?”

“Um,” Karkat said. Now would probably be a good time to mention his situation. His tongue felt very foreign in his own mouth. “Uh. I’m--uh. No. We’re good.”

“Okay,” Dave said. “I mean just lemme know later if you suddenly remember any bizarre allergies or diseases I should know about.”

Dave walked out of the bedroom and shut the door behind him. For a moment Karkat remained on the bed next to his duffel bag, before checking to make sure that his extra binder and tampons weren’t visible and tossing it into the closet. He looked at himself in the full length mirror before leaving the room, straightening his shirt and tugging down at the edge of his binder as he walked out. His nerves had mostly abated. At least Dave was big on privacy. His head was down as he left the room, eyes fixed on his slightly graying white socks.

“Hey--”

Karkat yelped and jumped several feet in the air before falling unceremoniously to the ground. “Holy shit!”

“Oh, whoa, man,” Dave said, standing above him and looking puzzled. “Uh, sorry. I just forgot to say-- about bringing people home. One, don’t fuckin’ do it. Two, let me know if you do.”

“Um, okay,” Karkat said. His heart was still hammering from the scare. “I don’t really interact with people- most of them are shitstains- but--okay.” 

Dave gave him a big thumbs up before vanishing into his mini-studio. The door shut behind him firmly. After a beat, Karkat’s stomach growled and he continued down the hall back into the kitchen, wondering what Dave had to eat.


	4. In Which Roommates Adjust to One Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have really bad allergies. breathing is hard and writing is too.
> 
> blood mention at the beginning

When Dave breaks shit, he hides it. 

Most recently, it was the glass cup broken into three pieces, tucked into the corner of the breadbox. It went unnoticed for several days until Karkat woke up one morning wanting toast, but instead found himself standing in front of the breadbox, clutching his sliced hand to his chest and yelling obscenities. Dave sheepishly poked his head into the kitchen and asked, between the slew of curses emanating from his roommate, “Uh… you alright?”

“What the fuck?! Literally all you have to do is take the fucking broken pieces and throw them in the fucking goddamn trash you shitstain this isn’t even that many pieces, it didn’t even shatter--” Picking up the pieces, he stared pointedly at Dave as he deposited them in the trash. “That. Fucking. Easy.”

“Shit, man, I’m sorry! But… you’re dripping blood on the counter. You okay?”

Karkat paused to assess his palm, eyes widening as he pinched apart the skin and watched blood well up. “Drive me to the fucking hospital, you asshat!”

“Lemme see,” Dave said, tentatively approaching him as though he were a wounded animal and gently taking his hand. “Alright, yeah, this is pretty damn deep but I can fix it, no worries.”

“The fuck? No, you can’t! You’re a DJ, not a goddamn doctor,” Karkat said, his tone sardonic. 

“Trust me, I know my shit. I’m actually a neurosurgeon. Nah, I’m shitting you, but I can actually stitch this up and we have no money to pay hospital bills with.”

Karkat sighed heavily before following Dave to the bathroom and planting himself on the toilet seat. The self-proclaimed medic retrieved his supplies, shoving aside bottles of various haphazardly placed shampoos and conditioners and soaps to get to a tiny, battered first-aid kit. The plastic corners were scuffed, and there was something that looked suspiciously like blood on the handle, but Dave opened it and took out the necessary items with confidence.

The process was not as arduous as Karkat initially expected, despite the kicking and yelling that had come with Dave pouring hydrogen peroxide over his hand. Once the cut was cleaned out, it was smooth sailing. As Dave was preparing a needle to stitch up the gash, a thought occurred to Karkat.

“How the hell do you know how to sew people up? It’s not like you’ve been in a fucking war or some shit.”

“Nah, didn’t you take health? This is first day basics. Not my fault you didn’t pay attention in school.” Dave’s tone was offhand, but something about the twist of his mouth and the way he quickly averted his eyes made Karkat skeptical. He decided to forgo further questioning, however, as he was about to be stabbed with a needle and thread.

Five stitches and many more “Ow, fuck”s later, Karkat was gingerly flexing his palm, wincing at the pain but no longer bleeding all over the apartment. 

That was the only time Karkat was injured as a direct result of Dave’s carelessness, though he could have hurt himself tripping over the shoes and various articles of clothing so often strewn across the floor. Living with Dave was somewhat of a trial: he was thoughtless, the type who left out the milk after a bowl of Lucky Charms at midnight, leaving Karkat to sniff at it suspiciously in the morning and wonder if it could be salvaged.

He would leave the lids off of jars of jam and tubes of toothpaste, getting distracted halfway through an action and wandering off to plunk on his keyboard or record a certain cadence. Karkat found himself trailing after Dave, cleaning passive-aggressively and loudly remarking about how great it was that he was cleaning, because wow did that apartment need it! Dave, clearly not listening, would nod or mumble before shutting the door to his recording room. Karkat also found that it apparently didn’t matter to Dave what time it was when inspiration struck, because he had awoken at 3 a.m. on several occasions to the same ten seconds of deafening music, over and over, as Dave obsessed over a certain rhythm or harmony. 

Dave’s attention to detail didn’t extend to his personal health. Often he would lock himself in the room for hours on end, forgetting to eat and even sleep in lieu of perfecting the echo of a clap. Karkat wouldn’t have really cared about Dave’s sporadic eating habits, but when Dave forgot meals he got grumpy, and Karkat didn’t like dealing with a hungry, frustrated Dave who snapped at him for breathing too loudly. He made Dave countless sandwiches, pounding on Dave’s door until he swung it open, headphones askew, eyes wide and forehead creased, utterly surprised and more grateful for the food than he would admit. In return, Dave would try to keep the apartment tidier than his norm, though this rarely translated to more than him hanging up his jacket and kicking his shoes slightly further under the couch than usual.

That wasn’t to say that Karkat was a perfect roommate, either. He was passive-aggressive to a fault, and just plain aggressive on top of that. He would stomp around the living room, loudly proclaiming his love for cleaning up after everyone in this godforsaken apartment and why would I ever want any fucking help while Dave sought refuge from his tirades. Frequently, in his irritation at cleaning up Dave’s messes in the kitchen, he would leave cupboards open and dishes half-washed in the sink. When Dave mentioned them, Karkat would snarl and comment snidely on how helpful Dave was for pointing that out. 

Dave did try to be helpful, though never openly enough to tarnish his cool facade. Karkat sometimes found himself unable to get out of bed, glued to the mattress by the weight of his own thoughts and the warmth of the blankets, and on days like these Dave would sit beside him, tapping away on his laptop and playing music that he knew Karkat liked. It was always some energetic chart-topper, Ke$ha or Lady Gaga or even One Direction, which Karkat suspected Dave was more partial to than he let on.

That isn’t to say Dave wouldn’t try to get him out of bed first, be it through forceful removal of blankets (and therefore warmth), laying on top of him and squirming while chanting “Get up get up get up get up”, or even dirty tactics involving numerous ice packs and a blow dryer. Once, he tried to tickle Karkat, but got punched in the face by a frantic closeted transboy who hadn’t put on his binder yet. Dave got the message--he didn’t try to tickle him anymore, but he certainly didn’t get any less annoying. 

Still, sometimes Karkat would fall asleep and wake up to a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table, or a bowl of mac and cheese, which was roughly the extent of Dave’s culinary expertise. He never mentioned them to Dave, the way Dave never outright thanked him for making him eat and sleep when he got too absorbed into his work to do it himself, but they looked out for each other, joined by some mutual understanding that neither of them quite knew how to articulate.

Overall, Dave wasn’t exactly what Karkat had expected based on John’s description. For one thing, he wasn’t nearly as attached to his shades as John had said. Often they rested on top of his head or even lay forgotten on the kitchen table, but even if it was just to go get the mail, Dave would don them on the way out. He reminded Karkat of a scuba diver, and his shades were a proverbial oxygen tank, a safety net between him and the outside world. Karkat noticed his red eyes, but never commented on them. Sure, they were pretty rare, but they weren’t unheard of, and he wasn’t gonna be That Asshole. 

For another thing, Dave, despite being a bit of a slob, never left the toilet seat up. Karkat appreciated it a lot, having blearily almost fallen into toilets in the past, but couldn’t help finding it odd. Dave couldn’t remember to lock the apartment on his way out, but his bathroom manners were impeccable, toothpaste caps aside. He decided to be thankful rather than confused.

Sleeping arrangements were another matter altogether. Luckily, Dave slept in a t-shirt and boxers, so Karkat didn’t have to explain the baggy night shirt he wore. Karkat soon found that both he and Dave were incorrigible blanket stealers. For several weeks, they endured nights of stealing the blanket from each other, until they realized that neither of them were getting any rest and bought another blanket. Sometimes Dave woke up shivering and Karkat had both blankets, so Dave would exact revenge by setting the alarm clock to beep half an hour earlier than normal.

Despite their small conflicts, Karkat hadn’t thought once about moving out in the past two months. He certainly wasn’t considering going back to his parents’ house, and he preferred a bed to Gamzee’s couch, even if Dave was a total bed hog and kicked sometimes. Karkat’s sense of security was cemented during a conversation over breakfast, while Dave was scanning the local paper and eating the marshmallows out of his Lucky Charms. 

“Oh, sweet,” Dave muttered at a specific article. “Bunch of high schoolers standing up for a trans kid. Never would’ve happened at my school.”

Karkat looked up from his own cereal a little too sharply, and attempted to sound casual as he asked “What’s the article about?”

“Oh, it’s just that this one trans girl got suspended for using the women’s restroom, and her friends are protesting it for the bullshit it is.” Dave glanced over at Karkat as he spoke, searching for any signs of aversion to the statement.

Karkat shoveled cereal into his mouth. “That’s great,” he said, milk dripping down his chin. He flushed and wiped it off with the back of his hand. “I wish people had been more like that at my school.”

Dave laughed drily. “Yeah, for real,” he said. “I grew up in fucking Texas. People were still fucking racist where I lived, and I don’t think they even know what transgender means.”

Karkat went to bed with a lighter heart that night than he had in years. His living conditions felt more secure and comfortable than he could ever remember them being. He still had to get dressed in the bathroom for fear of Dave seeing his binder, but his roommate wasn’t a bigoted piece of shit. Thoughts of home decreased dramatically when he realized he had no real desire to go back. None of Dave’s irritating habits could tarnish the safety he felt in their small apartment.


	5. In Which It Is John's Twenty-First Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its john's birthday. sorry this is so late we have aps and finals

“Fucking Christ, we can’t just get him shit from the dollar store. He’s twenty one. That’s so fucking infantile.”

“So we’ll get him the dollar store shit and a beer.”

“I thought he was supposed to be your friend,” Karkat grumbled. “Don’t friends get each other….I don’t know, less shitty presents than that?”

“I know Egbert. Yeah, sure, he might be turning twenty one but he’s still eight years old on the inside and he’d be pumped as fuck if we got him a batman toothbrush.”

Karkat gave in, conceding that Dave probably knew John best, and several hours later they were seated in the apartment, trying to wrap a bottle of Jack Daniels (with several bows) and three My Little Pony hula-hoops, among various other childlike trinkets they had picked up. The batman toothbrush was the crowning jewel of the arrangement. 

John’s party was scheduled to start at seven, so Dave naturally wouldn’t even put pants on until seven-thirty. By the time Karkat had finally convinced Dave to help him wrestle the plethora of gifts into the car, it was a quarter til eight. 

When they got to John’s house, there were cars parked dangerously near one another and booming music that rattled their car from half a block away. Dave parked outside one of the neighbors’ houses and led the way to John’s house, easily identifiable by the suspicious amount of water and confetti on the doorstep. Hopping over the puddle in tandem, they entered. 

The first thing that hit Karkat was the smell of alcohol and burning hair. 

“What the fuck--”

Gamzee was patting at Jade’s hair, which was still smoking slightly. He looked guilty. Jade seemed to be trying to shrug it off, saying that she’d been due for a trim anyway. Karkat saw Kanaya move towards Jade immediately, reaching for her hair and beginning to talk about different styles.

“Ummm… no more fire-breathing in the house!” John tittered nervously. Turning from Gamzee, he spotted Dave and Karkat staring confusedly at the scene. 

“Hey guys!!” John exclaimed, his face lighting up. “You made it!”

“Fucking barely,” Karkat snorted, sending Dave a sideways glance. “Strider here thinks that being fashionably late means not coming to the damn party.”

“Hey,” Dave said, slipping his sunglasses onto his shirt collar. “I’m fashionable, I’m late, and I’m at the fuckin’ party. Clearly I’m doin’ something right.” 

“Don’t worry about it!” John gave them a grin. “It’s not like the party is ending soon anyway!”

“This party is just getting started!” A tall Armenian woman with killer eyebrows and SICK MAKEUP appeared and slung her arm around John. She tossed Karkat a nod and smiled at Dave, but it didn’t exactly reassure him of any good-naturedness she might possess. 

“I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced,” the bombshell hella lady said, extending a perfectly manicured hand to Dave. “I’m Vriska, John’s boss.”

“I’m Dave,” Dave said, shaking Vriska’s hand and releasing it quickly. “This is Kar--”

“Oh, please,” Vriska said, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. “I’m Karkat’s boss, too. I see him every day. Right, Vantas?”

Karkat nodded, his hands buried in his pockets. “What’s Gamzee doing here, anyway?” he said, glancing back to where his friend was still trying to show off tricks involving too much fire. 

“My friend Tavros invited him,” John said, shifting and bumping against Vriska in a way that Karkat suspected was not very accidental. “Do you know him? He seems kind of...interesting.”

“Yeah, that’s Gamzee,” Karkat said, rolling his eyes. “I was staying with him before I moved in with Dave. Is Tavros the kid next to him?” He gestured towards a Korean boy sitting in a wheelchair beside Gamzee. As he spoke, Gamzee leaned back against the couch. John nodded.

“Why is he all wet?” Dave said. John grinned wickedly.

“I may have rigged a few birthday surprises for everybody!”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” grumbled Karkat. “We just walked into a fucking warzone.”

“It’s not a warzone! It’ll be tons of fun, I promise. Plus, whoever sets off the most booby traps by the end of the night gets a prize, so make sure you keep count!” John was grinning a little too widely. 

He was true to his word, and the traps were everywhere. Within an hour, Karkat and Dave had tripped over dozens of wires that seemed to reappear even when set off several times. In addition, Vriska burst out of the bathroom screaming about the saran wrap covering the toilet, and Eridan bit into a cream puff filled with mayonnaise. Every single door handle in the house was slathered with either butter or vaseline, and every door was closed. Rose, Kanaya’s girlfriend, was unnervingly good at avoiding each and every prank. 

The lethality of the traps steadily increased with the consumption of alcohol throughout the night, and soon a trip wire seemed more of a death sentence than an innocent trick. Luckily, John seemed to have drunk-proofed the house, and there were few sharp objects to fall on or vases to knock over. Still, the rowdiness increased with time, and when it came time for all to partake in an ungodly amount of cake, everyone was trashed.

“Cake time!” John announced, gesturing wildly and almost punching the cake that Jane had prepared for the evening. As he reached for a knife to cut the cake, she slipped a spatula into his hand.

“No drunk knife-wielding in this household,” she said sternly. John made a big show of rolling his eyes before accepting the spatula. Jane lit the candles, assuming the duty as she was the least drunk of the bunch, and turned to the group.

A loud, off-key rendition of happy birthday ensued, punctuated by several burps and someone falling over. When it was finished, John took a long, sweeping bow, eliciting a cheer from everyone and almost hitting his head on the table before slicing into the cake with the spatula. 

As Jade took over control of the spatula and busied herself with distributing cake, Dave punched John in the arm lightly. 

“So, twenty-one, huh? You know you’re a real man and all now, right?”

Eridan glanced up from his place next to Dave and grinned as he picked up a plate with a slice of cake. “What, like you?”

A stunned silence from those within earshot followed his words, and Dave shifted uncomfortably, turning to look towards him. Eridan faltered slightly, but tried to save face.

“...get it? You know, cause she-”

Several things happened at once. Vriska let out a loud bark of laughter, keeling over with mirth, and a few others, like Tavros, laughed along with her a bit awkwardly. The laughter immediately turned into gasps of shock, however, as Kanaya lunged at Eridan with a violent snarl, her beautifully manicured hands curled into fists and on a trajectory aimed straight at his face. 

Eridan let out a shriek as Kanaya’s fists assailed him, and Kanaya punctuated each blow with a word:

“If. You. Ever. Misgender. Him. Again. You. Will. Die.”

Behind Kanaya stood Rose, looking as though she had been about to hit Eridan as well, but pleasantly surprised that her girlfriend had gotten there first. Her lips curled into a smirk as she watched justice being served. 

It took a few moments for Karkat to comprehend what had occurred, but after looking between Dave’s thinly veiled irritation and Kanaya’s furious onslaught, he began to process the situation. Despite the heavy atmosphere in the room, he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Holy shit.

Dave was trans?

They had spent weeks, months even, padding around each other in fear and trepidation, each terrified of the other uncovering his secret, only to now find that the thing Karkat was most afraid would tear them apart was not only irrelevant, but something Dave would understand implicitly. Karkat let out a breathy laugh as he turned to face Dave.

All the color drained out of Dave’s face at Karkat’s laugh, and his disgruntled expression transformed into utter shock and betrayal before all of his emotions were suddenly shoved under a blank mask. He grabbed his shades off the table.

“Wait, shit--no, that’s not--” Karkat began, but Dave had already turned on his heel and disappeared up the stairs. John stared after him, wide-eyed, and then turned to Karkat.

“Dude, what the fuck,” John said. Karkat gaped openly, helplessly opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. The room fell silent.

“Wow, way to be a fucking dumbath,” Sollux sneered at Eridan disdainfully, breaking the oppressive silence.


	6. In Which Dave Doesn't Have Any Feelings. At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heeeeeeeeeey sorry we've been gone forever. we'll probably be gone forever again hahaaa
> 
> content warning: throwing up, alcohol abuse, references to transphobia

After weighing the pros and cons of puking on John’s bed, Dave determined it to be too damn impolite and opted for the downstairs bathroom. He walked down the hall carefully, one hand held out to steady himself, and stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, peering down them dubiously. Someone had warned him about stairs once.

One foot began to descend. The world followed. Dave paused. A step back. Reassessment. 

Slowly lowering himself to sit on the top step, he began to slide down. There seemed to be a lot more stairs than he remembered. Each one was painful on his ass. And his pride.

Eventually, the first floor was achieved. Dave was impressed with himself. Truly, this momentous occasion warranted congratulations, but he would settle for leaning against the banister, wrapping one arm around it, ignoring his nausea, and looking intimidatingly cool. 

Not intimidating enough, it seemed, because a moment later Kanaya placed herself on the step beside him. He nodded to her from behind his shades.

“How are you doing?” she asked. Dave attempted to ignore how her eyes pierced him. He avoided making eye contact, despite the safety provided by his shades. Something about Kanaya’s transparent empathy made him feel guilty for closing himself off. He shook it off.

“Ultra-fine. Finer than my own fine ass. Strikingly handsome. 15 outta 10, would be fine again.” He enunciated each word carefully and was momentarily glad he didn’t have to say the word ‘enunciate’ out loud.

Kanaya’s skepticism bled into her words. “Eridan was inconsiderate. I have had to deal with transphobic friends in the past, as well. It is understandable if you are upset. I would expect you to be, in fact.”

Laughing sardonically, Dave replied, “Well, I guess I ain’t livin’ up to your expep- except- expectations.” Kanaya looked at him with something unidentifiable in her eyes. Dave suspected it might be pity but pushed the thought away quickly. 

“Dave, you know I am here for you--” she began, but he cut her off.

“Listen, this has been a great chat, but I gotta date with the toilet. Gonna make out with it. M’ hot date’s waiting, ‘scuse me.” Dave’s mumbling became increasingly slurred as he slunk away.

His pace increased with the urgency of his nausea, preventing him from seeing the bucket of water on top of the bathroom door, poised to fall on its next unsuspecting, drunk victim. 

Dave dropped down and dripped on the bathroom rug in defeat.

Seconds later, a head poked around the door; it was Karkat’s. He looked worried but determined. “Dave, we need to talk. Fuck, that sounds stupid. We, uh. We need to talk, though.”

“Not righ’ now,” the prank victim muttered, slouched on the floor and slowly crawling in the direction of the toilet.

“Hey, you ass, don’t blow me off, we need to talk!” Karkat snapped, moving into the doorway defiantly. Dave looked up at him with a frown, water droplets sliding down his shades.

“I’m gon’ puke righ’ now.”

Karkat huffed, oblivious. “You’re so fucking rude! I’m trying to have a fucking decent conversation with you and you’re just being a fucking prick!”

Dave held up one finger in Karkat’s direction. “One sec,” he grunted, handing Karkat his shades before turning around and decidedly throwing up in the toilet. Karkat gaped, open-mouthed, the sunglasses loose in his hand.

Hesitantly, Karkat crouched down beside him. “Shit. Sorry.” He reached out and patted Dave’s back awkwardly. 

After a few minutes, Dave resurfaced, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Think m’done.” 

“You sure?” Karkat looked at him doubtfully.

“Yeah. Yeah, s’all good.” He moved to stand up, before thinking better of it and sitting back down, not actually finished. He retched several more times, Karkat trying not to gag behind him. After this attack, however, Dave seemed to really be done. 

After some strained silence, Karkat handed Dave his shades. “I think we should get you home.”

“I didn’ ask for your fuckin’ help,” Dave scowled. 

“We live together, you idiot. Let’s go,” Karkat said as he tugged him to the door. The two looked ridiculous; Dave was far taller than Karkat, and petulantly determined to make the journey as difficult as possible by doing an admirable impression of a rag doll. Karkat barked a good-bye at John on the way out, too preoccupied with fending off Dave’s whining to say much else. 

The ride home was terse. Karkat had accidentally punched Dave in the face trying to get the keys out of his pocket. Dave’s car was a stick shift, and Karkat nearly ran into another car while trying to follow Dave’s irritated, drunken instructions on how to drive it. 

They got home, Dave leaning on Karkat heavily but pretending he didn’t need to. Karkat unlocked the door and helped Dave into his bedroom, despite his incessant protests. After depositing Dave onto the bed, Karkat brought him water and aspirin.

Dave didn’t take them. “Much as I ‘preciate it, stop tryin’a take care a’ me,” he grumbled, rolling over. 

“This is called being a decent fucking human being,” Karkat shot back. “Just take them, you drunk fuck.”

“Gave up your decent human being card when you laughed at Eridan’s shitty jokes, fucker,” he told the wall. 

Karkat stopped. “Shit, ok. Fuck. That was not what it looked like.”

Flipping back over, Dave sneered. “Sure it wasn’t.”

“No, really, fuck, uh. You know how you’re. Shit. Okay, listen,” Karkat struggled. 

“Your decent humanity’s slippin away, man. Time is running out. Gotta get that stuttering under control.” Karkat heard a noise, and realized Dave was imitating the ticking of a clock. 

“Fuck you!”

“Oh, now I’m listening. That really made me wanna pay attention to your explanation--”

“I don’t have a dick either!” Karkat yelled.

Dave paused. “...What the fuck?”

“I’m- I’m trans!” Karkat sputtered. “I was laughing ‘cause I’ve been so fucking scared you’d find out, this whole time, but you’re trans too, and it was fucking ridiculous, and I’m sorry.” Dave focused on Karkat as his voice petered out.

“Oh.” He took off his shades and threw them on the bedside table, rubbing at his eyes. “...Couldja pass me that aspirin.”


	7. in which YOUR FAVORITE ARTIST DRAWS FANART OF YOUR FIC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this isn't an actual chapter with words but LOOK!!!!! LOOK AT THis MASTERPIECE!!!! LOOK AT THESE CHILDREN!!!! MY DARLING BABIES!!!!!!!!! LOOK AT THEM!!!!!

We are currently losing our shit. Look at them. Oh god. I love them so much.

 

art by [dong666](http://dong666.tumblr.com), the best artist in the world. If you like this fic you should definitely check them out!


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